Ashar
by Princess Kira Takenouchi
Summary: A shepherd with an extraordinary power over animals is enslaved by the sorcerer-king Varador.
1. Chapter 1

**1. Varador's Need**

Ashar tried not to tremble as Varador Castle came into view. He peered through the bars of the carriage and wanted to look away, but his eyes were fixed as though by some spell on the tall, sinister towers of the infamous estate. It seemed impossible, like a dream. He really was Lord Varador's captive!

Almost as if in answer to his thought, the chains between his manacled wrists jangled as the carriage rocked and swayed over bumpy ground. The terrain had changed and now seemed decidedly unstable—somehow entirely fitting, Ashar thought, as they came into the personal realm of the dark Lord.

The events of the past few days swirled in his mind, jumbled up with his own anxiety about what was in store for him. The man who had taken him had seemed to know exactly who Ashar was. As soon as he had verified his identity, he had seized him and cuffed him, saying only, "Lord Varador claims you, Ashar of Whitehall." He had not even been given leave to say goodbye to his family or friends. They had wept and called out after him as he was carted off, and all he could do was try to put on a brave face.

"Don't weep for me. We can't fight what is meant to be." Those had been his last words before the man had shoved him roughly toward the carriage. Ashar had stumbled to his knees, wincing when he felt the sharp stones on the ground cut into his flesh.

The man had lifted him up effortlessly as though he were a doll rather than a fully-grown young man, setting him inside the carriage. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, regarding Ashar with a strange look. It was almost as if only then had Ashar's comment registered with him. "Exactly so," he remarked. "You can't fight what is meant to be."

Ashar stared back at him, a bit awed by the man's sheer size and obvious strength. He wore a heavily embossed type of leather armor that left his arms bare, his muscular physique leaving no question as to the great physical strength he boasted. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and even the muscles of his neck were bulging with raw power.

"Where are you taking me?" he whispered.

"I told you. Lord Varador claims you."

"But where am I going?" Ashar repeated, hoping against all hope that the man would not say the words he least wanted to hear.

But he was to be disappointed.

"Varador Castle, obviously," the man answered, slamming the carriage door shut and securing it with an immense iron lock.

Ashar had fallen to his knees again, hands on the cool wood of the carriage floor as he struggled to comprehend what was in store for him.

Varador Castle! He was being taken to the very epicenter of the cruel Lord's empire—where Lord Varador himself resided! But why? What did the great lord want with him?

Ashar's heart then began drumming even faster than it already was, knocking a cadence against his chest that betrayed his fear of what was coming. His whole body became his heart—pounding, pounding, ka-thump ka-thump ka-thump!

His entire life, Ashar—like everyone else he knew—had been under Lord Varador's rule. They paid tribute, obeyed his laws, and tried not to attract the attention of the ferocious lord's henchmen, the guards that roamed the villages, monitoring everything that went on to report back to Varador.

It was no secret that Lord Varador was a fearsomely powerful sorcerer who used his dark gift to impose his will as far as he could reach. His domain extended further than any other lord in Merevonia—from the Emerald Mountains in the east to Blood Lake in the west, as far north as the Midnight Forest and south all the way to the Black Sea. No one dared oppose his might, not even the other lords who had been forced to abandon part of their own territories when Varador began to extend his empire.

Whatever Varador wanted, he got. He was feared and even revered by his people, many of whom had even set up temples to honor him, in hopes of winning his favor and thus being spared his notoriously malicious wrath.

But Ashar and his family had never visited the Varador temple in their village. Ashar's father had always said that to worship any mere human—even a man as great as Lord Varador—was a sacrilege against Omah, the One True God. Was that why he had been taken? But then, why only him? Why not his entire family?

He had puzzled over his predicament for two days as they journeyed to Varador Castle, which was located in the very center of the lord's empire, at Faragyn Hill. Although his initial anxiety had been, for the most part, smoothed out into a general sense of unease by the monotony of traveling, now that they were finally approaching the castle, Ashar felt his anxiety returning full-force. His stomach was a knot of worry and he was shaking—his entire body quivered with fear.

As he gazed at the castle, he tried to calm himself by reflecting on how beautiful the lord's estate really was. The castle was built of pale yellow stone, trimmed with black, with several tall spiraling towers of different heights rising above the main body of the castle. They were approaching from the west just as evening was falling. The sun shone blood-red by the east tower, just above the majestic spikes of the Emerald Mountains that loomed in the distance.

Lamps and torches had been lit in every window, and the entire castle glimmered with flickering golden light, reflecting also on the moat that surrounded the immense structure. The effect was stunning. Ashar swallowed hard, feeling some of his anxiety fade away. Surely something so beautiful could not hold anything too evil, he told himself. Perhaps all the rumors he had heard about Lord Varador weren't true. Perhaps he was actually a kind, gentle sort of man, misunderstood by his people.

Though Ashar knew very well this wasn't the case, he was too frightened to think about facing the infamous lord, so he comforted himself with imaginary speculations about the man.

The drawbridge was lowered and the carriage rolled smoothly over it. They were inside the castle! As the carriage came to a stop there was a sudden flurry of activity and the sound of several men approaching. Ashar peeked through the bars of the carriage, straining to hear the conversation.

"You have him?" One man said, nodding toward the carriage.

"Yes."

"You're sure it's him?"

"Positive. Ashar of Whitehall. He attested to it himself."

"Good. Lord Varador wants to see him right away."

"Shall I clean him up first?"

"No."

"He hasn't bathed."

"He was quite clear. He wants the boy now."

"He's not a boy. He's a good sixteen years, I'll wager."

The man seemed to disregard this with a shake of his head. "Bring him to the great hall."

"Very well."

Ashar held his breath as he heard the sounds of a key in the carriage lock; next the door swung open.

"Get out," the man commanded, holding out his hand to him.

Ashar took his hand and stepped out of the carriage, hardly daring to look around him.

"Sir," he whispered. "Might I know your name?"

The man paused for a moment and then answered, "Benthem."

"Why does Lord Varador want me, Benthem?" Ashar asked breathlessly, as Benthem placed a hand on his shoulder and began leading him out of the courtyard into the main castle.

"I will leave that for Lord Varador to say."

"Is this him?" The man who had been talking with Benthem earlier now blocked their path, regarding him with obvious contempt.

"Yes."

"He's filthy."

"I told you, Miqah. He hasn't bathed. We've been traveling since Hallow's Day."

Miqah sighed, falling in beside him as they continued on inside the castle and made their way down one of the corridors. "It can't be helped. But after Varador sees him, see that he's presentable. I'll send the tailor to draw up his wardrobe."

"Where is he to stay?"

"In the east tower."

Ashar eyed Miqah with curiosity. The man obviously enjoyed some rank at the castle, yet he had a surprising infirmity—one arm, beneath the elbow, was missing. The stump was capped with some sort of silver object, heavily ornamented, almost as if celebrating the missing limb.

The man walked quickly, his cape flowing behind him as they passed down first one torch-lined corridor and then another.

"Did you have any trouble?" Miqah asked, after a moment's silence.

"No. He came without resistance."

Miqah regarded Ashar with a slight nod. "And his people?"

"They did not try to stop me."

"Then, no one was killed?"

"No," Benthem answered.

A slight smiled quivered at Miqah's lips; he seemed extraordinarily pleased about something. "Good," he said softly, as though to himself.

"Any news from the north front?" Benthem asked.

"Only that nothing has changed. Vican says none of the men can control their mounts. They're vulnerable, if Lord Drake decides to take advantage."

"Surely he wouldn't be so foolish."

"You know as well as I do how much he's resented giving up his lands."

Benthem made no reply, and Ashar wondered about their words. What did Miqah mean, that none of the men could control their mounts? Was he talking about their horses? If so, what was wrong with them? Was that why he had been summoned by Lord Varador, because of his way with animals?

"Excuse me, Sir," Ashar said softly, now addressing his remarks to Miqah. "Why does Lord Varador want me?"

The man regarded him for a moment, his gaze then flicking to Benthem. "You told him nothing?"

"No. I was given no instruction—"

"Is it true what is said about you, that you can tame any animal, Ashar of Whitehall?" Miqah asked.

"I don't know about any animal," Ashar replied.

Miqah frowned, a look of worry flitting into his eyes. "No?"

"But it's true I have been able to tame some animals—I mean horses, dogs, foxes, birds, and the like."

Miqah visibly relaxed, exchanging a relieved look with Benthem.

"Is that why I've been brought here? To tame...an animal?"

"I'll leave it to Lord Varador to say," Miqah replied brusquely.

Ashar nearly had to run to keep pace with the two men, and they made so many twists and turns down the corridors of the castle that he already felt hopeless lost. The castle was like a labyrinth. How in the world did the men know where they were going? Every corridor looked exactly the same—long, dark, and lined with countless closed doors, the walls mounted with torches that flickered and hissed, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls.

Then, suddenly, they were in the great hall. Ashar looked up at the immense chandelier that hung down from the ceiling, marveling at all the candles in it. He guessed that there were hundreds. They were all lit. He could hardly fathom the amount of wealth Lord Varador must have, to be able to light such a chandelier each night.

The hall, unlike the rest of the castle, was well-lit. The light from the chandelier was supplemented by torches that lined the walls between brightly painted shields and axes that had been mounted in pairs, one crossing over the other. Ashar was so dumbfounded by the splendor of the hall that at first he didn't even see Lord Varador.

When Ashar finally saw him he drew his breath in sharply. The great lord was seated at the head of the hall in a high seat made of heavily-engraved silver. He was dressed head to toe in the finest clothes Ashar had ever seen, a rich blue velvet embroidered along the sleeves and hem in exquisite detail, with silver buttons all the way down the front of the tunic. He had long dark hair and fine features, but he carried himself with a sort of arrogance that Ashar immediately disliked. The man regarded him with intense, dark blue eyes—eyes that glimmered with intelligence but also with unmistakable cruelty, even malice.

"We've brought the boy, as you asked, Sir," Miqah announced, stopping some distance before the lord.

"I can see that," Varador snapped. "Bring him closer."

Ashar once again felt his heart beating so hard in his chest that he thought he might faint. He felt a sense of growing dread as he approached the lord, and he desperately wanted to look away, but he could not tear his gaze from the man's face. Lord Varador's eyes were locked with his own, and he began to panic as he realized Varador was holding him hostage with his magical arts.

Varador seemed to look into his very soul. Ashar could feel the man searching inside him, his presence becoming so powerful and unbearable that he felt unable to breathe.

_Omah_, he prayed, _protect me_.

Immediately Ashar felt released from Varador's grip. He looked away, relieved.

Lord Varador, however, was stunned. Never before had anyone broken his search. And now a mere boy had repelled his arts, not a few minutes in his presence. He stood up and approached Ashar, walking silently around him for a moment.

The boy was gifted in magic, that much was clear enough. It was fortunate that he had heard of his skill with animals, otherwise he might never have learned of his power. The boy was dangerous. And he was still young. Had he remained beyond Varador's influence, he might have grown into a rival.

But now, fortunately, he was Varador's captive. He could pose no real threat, at least not at the moment. Varador could use Ashar's power over animals to his advantage. Then, when he was finished with him, he would…dispense with him.

Permanently.

"Look at me," he commanded, when Ashar kept his head bowed.

Ashar met his gaze again, the fear in his eyes unmistakable.

Varador smiled. The boy was terrified. "I've heard you are skilled with animals," he said softly, almost in a friendly manner.

Ashar, a little surprised at the man's softened tone, only nodded.

"Good. We have been having a…slight issue…with our horses. You will rectify the situation. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

Varador studied him for a moment. "Your obedience pleases me. I assure you, you will come to no harm here as long as you do my bidding."

Ashar was quiet for a moment and then replied softly, "I will do whatever you ask of me, as long as it does not conflict with my beliefs."

Miqah and Benthem exchanged a worried look.

Lord Varador did not try to hide his annoyance. "You will do whatever I ask of you," he stated.

"Yes, as long as what you ask does not conflict with my beliefs," Ashar repeated nervously.

"If you do not obey my every command, I won't hesitate to have you killed," Varador said, his voice a low hiss.

"If it comes to that, I am ready to die," Ashar replied, swallowing hard. His words were far braver than his heart, and he hardly believed that he had dared to challenge the great lord. But there were certain things he knew he would not do. Although he was Lord Varador's captive, he would not worship him. He would not even step foot in the Varador's temple, if one existed on the premises, which he felt certain was the case. Varador was not God. There was only one God, and Ashar would bow before no other.

Varador was once again surprised by the young man who stood before him. No one had ever denied him his demands and lived to boast about it. He considered striking him down that very moment. Only his pressing need stayed his hand.

He needed Ashar. The problem with the animals in his empire had reached a crisis. First he had been forced to put down his dogs when they had turned on him. Now his cavalry was in chaos, because the horses had grown wild. Even the castle bats—usually reclusive creatures—had taken to attacking anyone who came near. No one understood why the animals were out of control or what was happening.

No amount of sorcery could calm them. In fact, it seemed the more energy Varador poured into his magic, the worse the situation became. He had begun to suspect that the animals were reacting to his sorcery, and that the more he used his dark arts to obtain his objectives, the more uneasy and unruly the animals became, in response.

But everything he'd worked for was in jeopardy. Without horses, his warriors were vulnerable. It would not be long before his enemies saw his weaknesses and conspired to come against him.

Yes, he needed Ashar...desperately. If the boy's magic was as potent as he now suspected, perhaps all could be saved.

"If it comes to that," he answered smoothly, "I am ready to kill you. So; let us hope that you are able to obey my every command."

Ashar had no answer to his threat but waited silently for the lord to continue.

Now Varador seemed to take note of Ashar's disheveled appearance. The boy's hair, though blond, had obviously not been washed in several days and hung around his face limply. And he stunk. Varador curled his nose in disgust.

"Take him to the bath hall and clean him up," he said to Benthem, as though chastising him.

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."

"Then take him down to the stables. See if he can calm my mount."

"Of course, my liege," Benthem answered.

Lord Varador turned abruptly on his heel and returned to his high seat, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.

Ashar looked after him for a moment, feeling an incredible sense of relief. So, he had been called to tame the lord's horses. That was something Ashar at least thought he could do—something, in fact, that he enjoyed doing. He loved animals. Every creature of Omah was precious in his eyes.

He puzzled over what he had learned about the lord's horses, remembering also the conversation between Miqah and Benthem. What was wrong with the horses? Were they ill?

The lord's situation touched on something he had noticed lately, with regard to animals in general. They had seemed, to him, increasingly uneasy in recent weeks. He had assumed they were responding to some unseen threat that they could sense but which humans could not; he suspected that perhaps an earthquake or some other natural disaster was nearly at hand.

But Miqah had said that none of the men could control their mounts. That meant the situation was far worse than anything Ashar had witnessed.

Why? What was happening to the animals? What was the connection with Lord Varador? And would Ashar be able to do anything about it?


	2. Chapter 2

2. Taming Nash

Benthem removed Ashar's manacles and chains in the bath hall, tossing them aside.

"You won't need to wear those any more, provided you continue to be obedient," he remarked.

Ashar nodded gratefully, relieved that he was not expected to wear the chains. He knew he was still enslaved, but somehow he felt less like a captive once he was freed of his shackles.

His bath was extraordinarily pleasant, for Lord Varador had built the bath hall around a hot spring, and the water contained natural salts that were soothing to the skin. The water had been scented with frankincense and other oils that Ashar found particularly comforting. He was usually very meticulous about grooming, so it had been distressing for him to be unable to wash for two days.

Miqah came with new clothes for him, a fine white tunic hemmed with an embroidered design of brown and gold interlocking squares, and started to take away his other clothes.

"My pouch," Ashar pleaded, pointing toward the leather purse that was fastened to the belt he had been wearing.

Miqah held up the red leather pouch. "This? What's in it?"

"My lythia, and my prayer scrolls."

Miqah raised a brow. "You play the lythia?" He flipped open the flap of the pouch to examine the contents and pulled out the small flute-like instrument, turning it over in his hands.

"Yes, I play," Ashar answered.

"Interesting. Not many people play the lythia, these days. Do you use it to tame the animals?"

Ashar nodded. "Sometimes." This was true, but Ashar mostly played the instrument for his own enjoyment and as part of his daily worship of Omah.

"It's rather plain, though, isn't it? Lord Varador has some spectacular lythias in his own collection. Perhaps he will allow you to play one of them."

Ashar made no reply. His father had given the lythia to him—he had made it himself. He wouldn't trade it for any other instrument in the world.

"I'm not sure you should keep these scrolls," Miqah remarked, as he pulled out the small drawstring-closed bag that housed the prayer scrolls.

"Please," Ashar pleaded, "I use them every day."

"I don't see the harm in it," Benthem asserted, as he splashed water on his face. "Lord Varador has no prohibitions against the worship of any gods."

Miqah put the scrolls and the lythia back in the pouch. "It would please him if you made prayer scrolls for him. I can get you the materials you need."

"Prayer scrolls are only for Omah," Ashar replied. "I cannot make them for Lord Varador."

Miqah glanced at Benthem. "You do realize, you will be expected to bow before the statue of Varador in his temple?"

"I only bow before Omah. I will not enter any temple to Varador."

"You will lose your life if you disobey Varador's command," Miqah pressed.

"Then I will prepare to die."

Miqah sighed loudly, looking again to Benthem. "Can you talk some sense into him?"

Benthem was soaping himself down, avoiding eye contact with Miqah. "What's there to discuss? He seems to have already made up his mind."

"What are we going to do, if he is killed? We'll be ruined. Even now Varador's enemies are conspiring against us. If we can't tame those horses—"

"Lord Varador knows the situation. Do you really think he's going to kill this boy now when he obviously needs him?"

Ashar listened to the discussion with wide eyes, his heart once again thumping hard, so loud that he could hear the drumming in his ears. Would he really be put to death for failing to enter the temple? Or was it true that Varador needed him, and for that reason would spare him? But what would happen to him once the animals were tamed?

Now Miqah appealed to Ashar again. "You're thinking about this in the wrong way. It doesn't have to mean anything. You just enter the temple, bow, and leave. Your god will understand."

Ashar choose not to answer, keeping his gaze averted. In fact, he was quite certain Omah would not understand. Omah was a jealous God. He would not be pleased if Ashar were to bow down to Varador. No, couldn't do that. He didn't want to die, but he knew that it was better to die doing what was right, than to live by doing what was wrong. In fact, he had no other choice, for after his death—which would come one day eventually no matter what he did—it would be Omah that he would face, not Lord Varador.

"We all must make sacrifices," Miqah said quietly. The man seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, staring ahead of him as though seeing something far in the distance.

When Ashar didn't reply, Miqah seemed to lose interest in the conversation, wandering off while Benthem and Ashar continued to bathe in silence.

Something about Miqah's manner made Ashar wonder about the man. He found himself thinking about his missing limb, though he wasn't sure why the thought had come into his mind. "Benthem," he asked finally, "that man, Miqah. Was he born without his arm?"

Benthem jerked his head up, as though surprised by the question. "No," he answered, a bit stiffly.

"How did he lose it?"

The man was silent for a moment, a strange expression on his face. "That is not my story to tell," he answered, looking away.

Ashar sensed by Benthem's manner that he did not want to talk about it, for some reason, so he let the subject drop.

After they had dressed, they went down to the castle courtyard to the lord's stable. They could hear the horses even before they entered the dwelling. The animals were restless, some of them rearing up and kicking their stalls.

Benthem glanced at him as they approached the building. "I hope you're as gifted as people say."

"How long have they been like this?" Ashar asked.

"For a few weeks. It seems to be getting worse. But this is nothing compared to what's happening on the north front. You'll be going there, when you're finished here. Lord Varador is joining his cohort there."

Although Ashar might have guessed this, he was actually surprised by this news. He was accompanying Lord Varador to his men on the north front? To the borderlands of Midnight Forest, at the very door of Lord Drake's domain?

As soon as he entered the stable, a noticeable calm settled over the animals. They watched him, still snorting and shaking their heads, but less agitated than they had been even moments before.

"Extraordinary," Benthem murmured.

"Which one is the lord's mount?" Ashar asked.

Benthem pointed out the mare, a white horse with a black mane and tail that seemed more anxious than any of the other horses. She was snorting and moving from side to side in her stall.

"Her name is Nash," Benthem commented.

At this, Nash reared up, releasing an ear-splitting neigh.

Ashar moved a few steps toward the horse, and then stopped. He opened the pouch at his belt and took out his lythia, and then he began to play it.

The effect on the mare—in fact, on all the animals in the stable—was almost immediate. The beautiful, haunting music calmed them. Nash still picked up her hooves and nodded her head, but she had quieted.

Slowly, Ashar approached the mare as he continued to play. After a few minutes he stopped playing and put his hand out to stroke the mare's head.

Nash accepted him, nudging his hand in pursuit of treats.

Ashar grinned, looking back at Benthem, who was standing some distance away, arms crossed on his chest with a look of awe on his face.

"She wants something to eat."

"Give her some apples," Benthem suggested, pointing to a wooden barrel of old fruit that was situated up against one of the walls.

Ashar retrieved a few apples and let the horse eat out of his hand as Benthem looked on in disbelief.

The man shook his head, slowly approaching the mare. "I don't know how you did that. No one could even get near her. What's your secret? How do you do it?"

Ashar shrugged. "I don't know."

The man reached out tentatively, surprised when the mare allowed him to touch her. "I wonder how long this will last?"

"I don't know that either."

"If you can keep her like this when Lord Varador comes to ride her, he will be very pleased."

"I can try."

"I want to tell him about this right away. I don't think he expected you to tame her so quickly. He'll want to see for himself. But I'm not sure how she'll react to Varador. She's been…rather unpredictable around him."

Ashar puzzled over this, stroking the mare's forehead as he continued to feed her. "Do you mean she reacted more strongly to him than to anyone else?"

Benthem nodded. "Yes. It was the same way with his dogs. He had to put them down."

"Animals sense things that we don't. Perhaps there is something about him—"

"You mustn't say that," Benthem interrupted, lowering his voice to a whisper. "We don't talk about _why_ this is happening."

Ashar nodded. "I see."

"Good," Benthem replied. "That music you were playing—what was it?"

"Oh, just something I dreamed up. Nothing special."

"It was extraordinary. Lord Varador will want to hear it. He enjoys music."

"I would be happy to play for him."

Benthem studied Ashar for a moment, as if debating what to say. "You're an interesting boy," he said finally. "You've accepted your situation without resistance. Yet you…still stand by your beliefs. There are not many people like you. And your power over animals—I've never seen anything like it."

Ashar smiled at him, a little embarrassed by his praise. It was unexpected, and he wasn't sure what to say. In the next instant the moment was gone. Benthem took a step back and seemed to be distancing himself from him.

"Stay here. I'll bring Lord Varador," he said, backing away.

Ashar turned back to Nash, smiling at the way the mare was nuzzling against him. She seemed, at the moment, extraordinarily gentle. He scratched her neck, whispering softly to her.

"What's been troubling you?" he asked. "What are you afraid of?"

Nash snorted gently, nudging his hand in hopes of more apples.

_Why do I have this gift with animals?_ Ashar wondered. _Was it so that Omah would bring me here to help Lord Varador? But why would Omah send me to help such a man? For surely there is no one in the world as wicked as Varador._

Ashar was so deep in thought, he did not hear Lord Varador approach. But he snapped back into awareness when Nash suddenly reared up and neighed.

"It had been reported to me that you had tamed this animal," Lord Varador said as he walked toward him. "It appears my council was mistaken."

Ashar glanced at Benthem, who gave him a warning look as if to say, _Don't say anything to upset the lord_. He reached out and tried to calm Nash, realizing that the mare was most decidedly responding to Lord Varador's mere presence.

"Nothing will harm you," Ashar whispered, focusing all his energies on trying to calm the frightened animal.

Nash quieted again, though Ashar could feel her trembling as the lord came closer. He glanced at Lord Varador, who was watching him carefully.

"Perhaps I spoke too soon," the lord remarked.

"She is still upset."

"This is the calmest I have seen her in weeks. So; it's true. You do have power over animals."

Ashar swallowed, daring another look at the tall, dark lord. He knew why Nash was afraid. _He_ was afraid. Lord Varador was a man who invoked fear. His sorcery surrounded him like a visible aura, emanating from his very being.

"You want to say something," Lord Varador probed, crossing his arms on his chest. "I can see it in your eyes."

Ashar caught Benthem's worried look as the man shook his head almost imperceptibly. He looked back at Lord Varador, considering. Should he tell Varador the truth?

"Go ahead, say what's on your mind," the lord commanded.

Ashar swallowed hard, looked away for a moment and then turned back to Lord Varador, gazing directly into his eyes.

"It's you," he said softly. "The animals are reacting to you."

Benthem made a sudden movement, but Ashar kept his eyes locked with the lord's.

A slight smile curled Lord Varador's lips. Somehow, he was not surprised that this young man from Whitehall would be the one to finally state what everyone else already knew but had been afraid to say. "And why, Ashar of Whitehall, do you suppose that is?"

Ashar fell silent for a moment as if in thought. Lord Varador noticed then that, now that he was freshly bathed and more regally dressed, the young man was quite handsome. He had a pure face, his eyes a pale clear green, and his skin seemed to glow from hours spent in the sun. His blond hair, now washed and brushed to shining, hung straight and nearly white just past his shoulders. He would be a remarkably handsome man, Varador thought, and then, unbidden, another thought came into his mind:

_He would be like a king_.

"I don't know," Ashar said finally.

"Well, by all means, if you do come to some great revelation, please share it with me," Varador said with affected sweetness.

The young man frowned but said nothing.

"Tell me, Ashar, what did you do in your village?"

"I watched my father's sheep, Sir," Ashar answered.

Lord Varador smiled again. A shepherd? Surely he had nothing to worry about, after all. What threat could a shepherd boy possibly pose? And perhaps that explained his gift with animals. The boy spent all his time with them.

Although Lord Varador knew perfectly well that not all shepherds—in fact, no other shepherds that he had ever heard of—had such power over animals, he chose to disregard this fact and comfort himself with this new knowledge. Surely he, lord of the vastest territory in all Merevonia, had nothing to fear from a shepherd boy.

"I'm going for a ride," he announced. "See that she stays calm while I mount her."

"I'll try, Sir," Ashar agreed, stroking the mare soothingly. Lord Varador seized the saddle and put one boot into a stirrup, and then leapt onto the back of the beast.

Although Nash was obviously uneasy, she allowed the lord to mount. Lord Varador rode out of the stall and out of the stable without trouble, but as soon as he stepped out into the courtyard, he reared up again, nearly unseating Lord Varador.

"Ashar!" Benthem yelled.

Ashar rushed to the lord's aid, and his presence immediately calmed the mare.

Lord Varador cursed and tried to ride again, but as soon as the mare was some distance away from Ashar, she became uncontrollable again.

"You haven't tamed this horse," Lord Varador accused. "What good will it do me if I can't ride her when you're not around? I'll have to take you everywhere I go!"

"I'm sorry, Sir," Ashar answered, feeling just as troubled about the situation as the lord.

Lord Varador gave a loud sigh. "Benthem," he said, "saddle up a horse for the boy. I'll have to take him with me whenever I ride until we can fix this situation."

"Yes, my liege," Benthem replied, rushing to ready one of the horses. "Ashar! Come with me."

Ashar hurried after Benthem, nervous about riding with the lord but excited, too. He loved riding.

"You _do_ know how to ride, don't you?" Benthem asked, in a low, worried voice.

"Oh, yes. I ride nearly every day."

Benthem nodded, obviously relieved. "Stay near Lord Varador. If he is thrown from his horse, I'll hold you personally responsible."

"Yes, Sir."

Ashar mounted his horse with ease—a black stallion with a white mane and tail—and rode out to join the lord, who was still having trouble controlling Nash.

As soon as Ashar approached, Nash calmed down again, and in the next instant Lord Varador took off at a trot, Ashar at his side.

It was night and the moon Kara had risen high in the sky, bright and full as the eye of Omah. They rode in the courtyard, an immense open area that was lit also by torches mounted around its perimeter. They circled the outer courtyard along a path there, for the inner courtyard contained a beautiful garden of weeping willow and pear trees. As they passed the men of the castle, they were hailed with cheers. It was the first time in several weeks that Lord Varador had been able to ride his horse, and the sight of him on the back of the unruly beast was a relief to everyone.

Lord Varador knew this; he knew that his authority had taken a hit when his animals had turned against him. It was important that everyone see he was still in control of his empire, beginning with his own horse. If it meant that he had to drag Ashar along everywhere he went, that's what he would do.

They slowed their pace as they approached the stable. Varador turned to look at Ashar, who was grinning, his face flushed with excitement. For a brief moment the lord had a slight feeling of affection for the boy. He quickly put the thought from his mind; he could not afford to develop an attachment to someone he would eventually be forced to kill.

"Tomorrow you'll ride with me to the north front," he announced, dismounting and walking away without further comment.

Ashar looked after him, still breathing hard from the excitement of the ride. So, it really was true, just as Benthem had said. He was going to the north front, where Varador's legendary warriors were preparing to extend the lord's empire northward into Lord Drake's territory. Of any place he might be asked to go, none was more exciting or frightening than the north front.

And he would be riding there with none other than Lord Varador, the most powerful ruler of Merevonia.

Ashar shivered. In just a few short days, his entire life had been completely transformed. He had gone from tending sheep in his family's pastures to taming the mount of the most renown sorcerer the world had ever known.

What would tomorrow bring?

Ashar instinctively reached for his prayer scrolls, closing his eyes to offer a prayer of supplication to Omah.

_Help me, Omah_, he prayed. _I am afraid. Give me the strength to face whatever is in store for me. Help me to trust in your purpose for my life_.

He opened his eyes, feeling a sense of peace wash over him. He smiled, knowing that he had just been blessed.


	3. Chapter 3

3. The Consulate

Ashar had to walk quickly to keep pace with Benthem, who seemed to be deep in thought as he led him through Varador Castle.

"Benthem, wait! Where are you taking him?" Miqah called after them from the west corridor. He strode toward them purposefully, his dark cape swirling behind him as he walked.

Benthem stopped and turned, waiting for Miqah to catch up with them. "To the east tower, as you instructed."

"Lord Varador has changed his mind. He says to put him in the west tower."

"The west tower?" Benthem repeated, as if not quite comprehending. "But that's the consul's tower."

"Yes. And he is to wear this." Miqah held up a golden disc embossed with Varador's crest—two crossed axes—that was attached to a heavy golden chain.

"But that's a consul's medallion!"

"It is," Miqah agreed, slipping the heavy necklace over Ashar's head.

Ashar looked down at the magnificent golden crest and then back at Miqah, as puzzled as Benthem.

"What, are you saying he's a consul now?"

"Yes."

"But…a consul outranks me!" Benthem protested.

"And me," Miqah nodded. "That is what Lord Varador has decreed."

"Is he still a slave, then?"

"Yes."

"How can he be a consul if he's a slave?" the man demanded, crossing his arms on his chest.

"He is bound to Lord Varador in service. He is not free to leave. But he is to have high rank," Miqah explained.

Benthem shook his head, struggling to understand. "What's his consulate, then?"

"Aragathia."

"What? You mean the entire north front?"

"Yes."

Ashar listened to this conversation with wide eyes, not quite daring to believe what he was hearing. He looked down again at the thick golden disc that rested against his chest. Its weight pulled against the back of his neck.

Was he really to be a consul, a high magistrate in Lord Varador's empire? Was he truly being put in charge of Aragathia—the north front?

But what did all this mean? He didn't know anything about ruling! Why would Lord Varador do such a thing? And what would he expect from him?

"I don't know how to be a consul," he said meekly.

"Of course you don't," Benthem muttered darkly.

"Watch yourself," Miqah warned, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Lord Varador has decreed this. Are you going to argue with him about it?"

Benthem sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just don't understand."

"We're to be his advisors," Miqah continued. "We'll be accompanying him to the north front."

At this, Benthem seemed to brighten. "His advisors?"

"Yes." Miqah held out his hand. In his palm were two golden rings, both with the lord's crest. "One is for you, and one is for me."

"Varador's seal!"

Benthem took the larger of the rings and proudly put it on the middle finger of his right hand. He knew what an honor it was to wear a ring with the lord's crest: it meant he could answer correspondence with Lord Varador's personal seal.

Although he still felt astonished at the lord's decision to promote Ashar to such a high position as consul within mere hours of his arrival at Varador Castle, now he began to see that his own rank had just been improved by association with the boy. A consul's advisors were nearly his equals; and since Ashar, by his own admission, knew nothing of ruling a consulate, it meant that he and Miqah would hold the real power.

And, after all, Ashar was still a slave.

"Put my ring on my finger," Miqah requested, the second ring still sitting on his palm.

Benthem flushed with embarrassment, as though he had forgotten for a moment that Miqah only had one arm.

"Of course," he answered. He slipped the ring onto the man's fourth finger, aware suddenly that this was the first time he had ever touched Miqah. His hands felt warm and strong, and he realized then that they each wore the same seal. They were equals, both of them now in positions of new power.

Would they be of the same mind as advisors to Ashar? Or would they disagree on matters?

The two men exchanged a long look as each of them pondered this question.

Ashar was completely unaware of the subtle communication between Miqah and Benthem, and was not even completely sure what it meant for them to be his advisors. But he felt relief; he had no idea how to be a consul, and he felt comfortable around Benthem and Miqah, if only because they were the only men at Varador Castle he knew.

"To the west tower, then," Benthem said.

Ashar continued to look around his room in disbelief. He still couldn't get over his surprise at being led to such luxurious accommodations.

His rooms were at the very top of the west tower. He had been given two immense round rooms, one above the other. The upper room was his private bedroom and living area, while the lower room was more of a study and parlor—a place where he could entertain guests.

Everywhere he looked he saw some object of luxury—beautiful vases and urns, paintings, and statues. Both rooms had a wall fountain, one that spilled water from the mouth of lion, and the second from a pitcher held by a young boy. The parlor was colorful, decorated in deep, rich reds, tangerine, blues, greens, and gold, while his upper rooms were more calming, laid out in aquamarine and silver.

His windows overlooked the entire countryside, for the tower afforded a view in every direction. The west tower was the highest tower at Varador Castle. From it he could see the snow-capped Emerald Mountains in the east, and the rolling green hills of the land that surrounded the castle. He watched the sun rise over the river Tun, its light glimmering on the clear waters. The moon Doth was rising, too, while Kara was setting behind the Emerald Mountains.

Ashar had been too excited to sleep much. He had dozed off a few times, only to wake in confusion upon finding himself in an immense, extraordinarily comfortable bed and in a room that seemed, to him, made for a king.

He looked at the consul's medallion that he had hung on one of the bedposts after retiring. Was it really true? Was he to be consul of Aragathia? But why?

Merely because he had tamed the lord's horse?

If Benthem had been perplexed by the lord's decision, Ashar was even more so. He knew absolutely nothing about political life. He wasn't even sure what a consul did, precisely. Why would Lord Varador make him consul and put him in charge of the north front?

It made no sense.

He sighed, though he felt a bit excited about the turn of events. He had arrived at Varador Castle in chains, and now he was to oversee the most important territory in the lord's empire.

Why had Lord Varador given him such a position? Was he really so impressed with Ashar's ability to tame animals? But how did taming animals make him qualified to be one of his consuls?

He had tossed and turned most of the night with these thoughts, and now was no closer to finding any answers. All he knew was that he was glad Benthem and Miqah would be going with him to the north front. They were to be his "advisors." Ashar knew he would rely on them almost completely when it came to ruling the consulate, because he did not know anything about the matter.

He had wished, the night before, for his falcon, Fynnian, thinking that if only the bird could find him, he could send a message back to his family to let them know he was well.

As he lay in bed remembering this, he was stunned when Fynnian alighted on one of the open stone arches that formed the windows of the tower.

"Fynnian!" he cried, leaping out of bed.

The bird ruffled his feathers in reply, raising a wing to preen himself.

"How did you find me?" he exclaimed, grinning at the large, handsome hawk.

Fynnian regarded him expectantly.

"You want something to eat, don't you?"

Ashar looked around the room and then spied a tray of bread, nuts and lexia seeds. He grabbed a handful of the seeds, along with a few bread crumbs, and scattered them on the window seal.

"Wait here! I've got a message you can take with you."

Ashar went to the immense desk that occupied one corner of the room and found some parchment paper, tearing a small piece from it. Then, dipping a feather quill into a well of dark ink, he wrote:

My Loved Ones,

I am safe and well at Varador Castle. The lord has made me consul of Aragathia. I am going to the north front. Do not worry about me.

Ashar

He waited for the ink to dry and then carefully rolled the message into a scroll. Then he put it inside the leather container affixed to Fynnian's foot.

The falcon continued to eat until all the bread and seeds were gone.

"Take that message back to my family," Ashar whispered. "Thank you for coming, Fynnian."

Fynnian answered him with a great screech, taking flight and soaring west, toward Whitehall.

Ashar watched him go, smiling. He didn't know how the bird had managed to find him, but he knew Omah had a hand in it.

He closed his eyes.

Thank you, Omah, for blessing me and watching over me. You give me so many good things. I know I do not deserve them. I don't know why you brought me here or why you have given me this new position. Please guide me so that I know what to do, no matter what happens.

He opened his eyes again, just as a flock of beautiful red and gold bela geese landed on the river. The sight of the rare birds, so rarely seen in great numbers, was spectacular, and Ashar held his breath in wonderment.

There was a knock at the door.

"Ashar?" Benthem called. "May I enter?"

It took Ashar a moment to adjust to the notion that Benthem was asking for permission to enter.

"Yes," he answered.

Benthem came into the room, nodding when he saw he was out of bed.

"Good. Get dressed. Lord Varador wants to leave right away."

Ashar nodded, throwing off his nightshirt and reaching for his tunic.

"No, you won't be wearing that now," Benthem instructed, stepping aside to let the tailor—who had measured Ashar the night before—into the room.

The tailor entered holding a two-piece military-style outfit made of embossed leather, encrusted with heavily ornamented gold fittings. The skirt was short, falling mid-thigh and leaving his legs bare. It was obviously something a man of high standing would wear, and Ashar felt a bit ridiculous to even think of putting it on.

"I'm to wear that?" he asked.

"Yes. Hurry, the lord is waiting."

Ashar then noticed that Benthem was dressed in something similar, though his outfit was not as heavily ornate as Ashar's.

The tailor, who had stayed up the entire night to finish Ashar's clothes, seemed to fret over the fit, pulling and tugging on the garment as though not quite satisfied with it, until finally Benthem sent him away.

"Put on your medallion," he instructed.

Ashar nodded, slipping the heavy chain over his head. The golden crest seemed more appropriate when worn with his new clothes. He put on the short leather boots that completed the outfit, lacing them up with long thongs.

Miqah had joined them and gave Ashar an approving nod. "You look like a consul." Except for the fact that you're so young, he thought to himself.

Ashar swallowed, wishing that he felt like a consul. It was one thing to be asked to tame a few animals, and quite another to suddenly be asked to oversee the most important territory in the lord's empire.

Miqah was carrying something else that Ashar was to wear: a belt with a sheathed sword.

"Must I wear that?" Ashar asked, frowning.

"Yes," Miqah answered.

"It's a good sword," Benthem reported, sliding the sword from the sheath to show it to him.

"I've never carried a weapon in my life, other than a slingshot," Ashar protested.

"Still, as consul you must be armed," Miqah insisted, holding out the belt to him.

"I won't use it," Ashar remarked, taking the belt and fastening it around his waist. He took the sword from Benthem with obvious reluctance, slowing sliding it into his sheath.

Miqah and Benthem exchanged a concerned look.

"Are you saying you won't defend yourself, if someone comes at you?" Miqah pressed.

"That's right. I would sooner die than hurt or kill someone else. Omah forbids it."

Benthem looked at Miqah with obvious exasperation. "What are we supposed to do about this?"

Miqah shrugged. "If he won't defend himself, we'll have to protect him. But who's going to want to harm him?"

"Vican, of course. He won't be too pleased when he finds out Ashar has the consulate of Aragathia. You know he was hoping for that post himself."

"But surely he wouldn't dare do anything about it."

"Who was consul of Aragathia before me?" Ashar asked, trying not to worry about who this "Vican" was or why he might not be pleased with him.

Miqah turned to him. "No one. It was the only post Lord Varador had not yet filled. Everyone expected General Vican to be appointed. So your appointment is going to come as a surprise to many."

"It comes as a surprise to me," Ashar remarked.

Benthem and Miqah both smiled at this, nodding in agreement.

Ashar took a deep breath, and then looked directly at each of the two men. "You both realize I know nothing about being consul. I have no idea why Lord Varador chose me for such an important position. I will be relying on both of you heavily, because I won't know what to do. I hope you will speak freely with me about all things."

The men seemed pleased with this, both of them seeming to relax a bit.

"We will," Miqah answered, and Benthem nodded to show his agreement.

"We'd better go to the stables and make sure the horses are calm enough to ride," Benthem suggested.

"My pouch," Ashar said, reaching for the red leather purse that held his lythia and prayer scrolls.

"Leave that behind," Miqah suggested. "You can keep your things in your new pouch." He motioned to the fine leather purse that was attached to Ashar's belt. Ashar retrieved his instrument and the prayer scrolls and put them inside his new pouch, buckling it closed.

The tailor returned to the room, knocking to gain admittance. "I almost forgot your cape," he explained, holding up a cloak of rich crimson material. He draped it over the boy, fastening it at one shoulder with an elaborate golden cloak-pin. Then he repositioned the consul medallion so that it was displayed prominently.

The three men stood back to examine him.

"You look the part," Miqah admitted. The tailor nodded.

"It's true you look like a consul," Benthem agreed, "but there's no question you're very young. You're going to raise a lot of brows in Aragathia."

Lord Varador spent the night in seclusion, working sorcery to bring himself power. He knew his trip to the north front was of the utmost importance. His men were starting to doubt his authority and were confused by what was happening to the animals.

So he spent hours using the dark power of his mind to extend his reach as far as he could, focusing his energies on the province of Aragathia.

Several times during the night images of Ashar came, unbidden, into his thoughts. He found this intrusion annoying. What was it about the young man that was so compelling? How was it that he had such power over animals? And how had he managed to break his mind-search, something that no one else had ever been able to do?

After witnessing his power over Nash, it hadn't taken Varador long to realize that he needed a different approach when dealing with the young shepherd of Whitehall. It wouldn't do to have him living like a slave or feel resentment toward him.

That was when the idea came to him that he should give Ashar a position of authority. Yes, he was still technically his slave, but if the boy were treated well, perhaps he would be even more cooperative in helping him.

Although he hadn't been uncooperative, Varador decided Ashar would have more of an incentive to assist him if he gave him a coveted province to oversee.

He knew Benthem and Miqah would run the consulate, which was why he appointed them officially as advisors. The boy was merely a headpiece, and one which he would eventually replace.

He made Ashar consul also to give him authority. Varador didn't want to ride to the north front with a shepherd boy in tow to control his mount. By giving him the authority of a consul, it would make his presence seem less surprising.

Varador was so wrapped up in his own logic that he failed to see how surprising it really was to have appointed a mere boy to the position of consul of Aragathia. Dressing Ashar in a consul's garb wouldn't make it any less astonishing. In fact, the sight of someone so young wearing a consul's medallion was almost humorous, if it weren't so serious a matter.

Vican would be furious, Varador realized. He found this thought irritating, too, feeling angry with the general in anticipation of his reaction. How presumptuous of Vican to assume that he would be made consul of Aragathia! Varador could appoint whomever he wanted! If Vican said even one word about it….

The lord frowned when he realized his thoughts had strayed again from his purpose. He sighed. He was having more trouble than usual focusing his power. He knew it was because of Ashar, and this troubled him.

Like Ashar, the lord did not sleep much that night.

The men rode hard and fast across the countryside, heading north. After a few hours Ashar began to be concerned about the horses. Lord Varador didn't seem to care that he was pushing them beyond their limits or think about the fact that they needed water and rest.

Finally Ashar decided to do something about it. He was riding alongside the lord, who was leaning forward, his brow furrowed as he stared intently ahead of him.

"The horses must rest!" he shouted.

Varador turned to him, surprised to be addressed.

"What?"

"I said, the horses need to rest! We must stop! This is madness! They can't go on like this!"

The lord sat back on his mount, which Nash took as a signal to slow down. Varador slowed their pace and changed direction, heading toward one of the many brooks that coursed over the countryside.

Nash took no additional persuading. She made for the water and immediately lowered her head to drink, her sides heaving as she struggled to catch her breath.

The other horses had joined them at the brook, and only then did Varador realize that Ashar was right to have said something. He had been prepared to reprimand the boy in front of Benthem and Miqah for daring to issue a command to him, but he felt foolish now for failing to realize he was pushing the animals too hard.

In his haste to reach the north front, he had completely discounted the animals' needs. Now it was clear they were exhausted. They would have to stop for awhile, to let the horses regain their strength.

He dismounted, walking toward a grove of birch trees that had caught his attention.

"Ashar," he said, without turning, "walk with me."

Ashar obeyed, immediately sliding from his horse and rushing to catch up with the lord. He expected to be reproached for bringing up the matter of the horses, but he wasn't sorry that he had done so. He knew he was right to have said something.

"Are you not afraid of me?" Lord Varador asked, once Ashar had joined him.

"Of course, Sir."

"Didn't you think I might discipline you for what you said to me?" The lord turned to regard Ashar, who met his gaze evenly.

"I didn't think about that," Ashar answered. "The horses needed rest and water. They are living creatures. Could you run all morning and not need rest or drink?"

"You will never address me in such a manner, publicly, again."

"But, Sir—"

"Did you hear me? Don't argue with me!"

"I heard you," Ashar replied carefully, "and I will obey you in all matters, if I can. But what you were doing was wrong. I had to say something."

"I just told you not to argue with me. How dare you speak back to me!"

"I'm sorry to have upset you. I am not arguing with you. I am merely stating my position."

"You are arguing with me! I want you to be silent!"

Ashar nodded and walked quietly alongside the lord. Varador had his arms clasped behind his back as he walked, his brow once again furrowed. He had a sudden urge to turn to Ashar and strangle him, and then just leave him there in the grove of birches.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a pack of wolves appeared before them there among the trees. They stood with their teeth barred, growling viciously, the fur on their necks standing on end.

Alarmed, Lord Varador froze, taking a quick tabulation of their number. There were seven of them, and they were advancing toward them in a menacing fashion.

Benthem and Miqah came running, swords in hand.

"Draw your sword," Lord Varador whispered.

Ashar shook his head, frowning.

"Obey me," the lord hissed.

The wolves looked ready to attack.

Worried that there would be bloodshed if he didn't do something, Ashar stepped forward. Then he began walking calmly toward the pack, holding one hand out in front of him.

"Ashar, no!" Benthem cried. "They'll tear you to pieces!"

Just as Varador was about to command Ashar to stop, the demeanor of the wolves inexplicably changed. They stopped growling and instead began whining and yipping, nudging him for attention and seeming more like puppies than wolves. Ashar got down on his knees to pet them, receiving delighted licks for his efforts.

The men watched in utter amazement.

"Unbelievable," Miqah murmured, voicing what the others were thinking.

"I wonder what got into them? I've never seen wolves act that way," Benthem remarked. "They usually don't bother with us." He left unspoken the obvious: that this was yet another instance of animals behaving strangely.

Varador had watched Ashar fearlessly approach the wolves with a mixture of disbelief, curiosity, and begrudging respect. The boy was brave, but more than this, it was obvious he was supremely confident in his power over animals. Where did his power come from? And could Varador claim such power for himself?

"Ashar," he said sternly, "I told you to draw your sword. You disobeyed me."

Ashar looked at him, trying not to smile when one of the wolves began licking his hand. "I could not obey you, because you wanted me to hurt these wolves. I cannot harm an animal. These wolves are like my brothers."

"You will obey me in all things," Lord Varador pressed. "You should have done as I asked."

"If I had done as you asked, these wolves would have surely killed you," Ashar replied.

Varador was silent for a moment. It was probably true that, had they attacked, the wolves would have, at the very least, injured him. He couldn't very well punish Ashar for saving his life. Yet his defiance annoyed him.

"When I tell you to do something, you must do it," he repeated, trying not to let his exasperation show. "You are my consul now. You must display perfect obedience. If you disobey me in front of my men, I will punish you."

Miqah glanced at Benthem, who raised a brow in response. Lord Varador had already told Ashar that disobedience would result in death. Now he had modified this sentence to punishment. Not only that, Ashar had clearly disobeyed him by failing to draw his sword when ordered, but Varador was answering that defiance with a mere reprimand.

As if sensing their thoughts, Lord Varador continued, "I should take your life right here and now for your disobedience. But you are very young and have much to learn. Since you were able to tame these wild animals and prevent them from attacking me, I will forgive you for your error. But from this point on, Ashar, I expect perfect obedience from you."

The lord waited, expecting Ashar to thank him for his leniency and to promise to obey him.

Instead, Ashar was quiet for a moment, looking at one of the wolves he was petting. Then, he lifted his head and looked straight at the lord.

"I will tell you the same thing I told you before, but I will clarify my position for you. I will obey you in all things, as long as what you ask me does not go against my beliefs. But if you ask me to do something that I know is wrong, I will not do it."

Lord Varador was furious with this answer. But then the wolves, as though sensing his hostility, started to growl at him. So he said nothing, but instead turned on his heel and walked away, sword still in hand.

"You've made Lord Varador very angry," Miqah remarked. "You're lucky that he didn't strike you down for your defiance."

"It was not my intent to make him angry," Ashar answered. "But I must be truthful with him."

"It's clear enough those wolves are protecting you," Benthem said. "I'm amazed at your power over animals. I don't know how you do it."

"Any power I may have doesn't come from me, but from Omah," Ashar replied.

The wolves followed them across the countryside the entire day, whining whenever the men tried to discourage them from following.

When they finally stopped for the night, the pack settled in nearby, refusing to leave even when Varador threw stones at them.

"Make them go away," he said to Ashar, finally.

Ashar only shook his head. "I can't control what they do. I can only keep them from attacking us."

"We can't have a pack of wild wolves trailing us to the north front! It's obvious they're following you, so I want you to do something about it!" Lord Varador insisted.

So the young man went out to the wolves, who greeted him excitedly, their tails wagging and thumping on the ground. "You must go away," he said to them. "You are frightening these men. They won't sleep well if you are here. Please go away."

Amazingly, the wolves acted as though they understood what Ashar asked of them. They turned and began walking away. One of them raised his head to offer a mournful howl, and then the others all joined in, creating a hauntingly beautiful wolf song.

Ashar watched them go, as surprised by their departure as anyone.

"I thought you said you couldn't control them," Lord Varador remarked, when Ashar returned to the encampment. "Yet they seemed to have done exactly as you requested."

The young man shook his head. "I didn't think they would. I'm sure they can't understand our language, so I don't know why they decided to leave."

"It's clear they did understand you. You have a remarkable power over animals, Ashar of Whitehall. Tell me, where does it come from, this power you have?"

"It comes from Omah, as do all gifts," Ashar answered.

"And who is Omah?

"Omah is the One True God."

"Why do you think Omah has given you this gift?"

Ashar fell silent for a moment, considering. "I have often wondered about that. I don't know the answer."

Benthem and Miqah had set up their tents, one for Lord Varador and another for the rest of them. But when Ashar moved to retire his tent, the lord detained him.

"You will stay in my tent tonight," he commanded. "There is plenty of room. Miqah says you play the lythia. You will play for me."

"As you wish," Ashar agreed, relieved that the lord no longer seemed to be angry with him. He accompanied Varador inside his tent and sat down on one of the bedrolls. Then he retrieved his instrument from his pouch and began to play.

Lord Varador was completely enchanted by the music. He listened quietly, marveling over the young man's skill. It was yet another amazing gift Ashar possessed.

He alternated between feeling jealous of Ashar and simply enjoying the music. There was something haunting about the songs he played. The music seemed to summon up old memories. The songs were sad and yet, at the same time, somehow hopeful. He'd never heard anything quite like them.

Ashar continued to play until at length he saw that Lord Varador had fallen fast asleep. He smiled. Then he put his lythia away and spent a few minutes in prayer before he retired as well.

They would arrive at the north front sometime the next morning. Ashar shivered when he thought about what it would be like to ride into the encampment as consul.

From far in the distance, a wolf—as if in response to his thoughts—let loose another long, mournful howl.


	4. Chapter 4

4. The North Front

Ashar rose before dawn, awakened by the myriad bird songs that filled the dew-kissed air. He decided to spend some time with the horses before they set out, suspecting that the animals might be agitated again. And he wanted some time alone, to pray, as he did each morning. But as he was about to slip out of the lord's tent, Varador called after him.

"What are you doing?" the man demanded. "Where are you going?"

"I'm just going to check on the horses, Sir."

"You wouldn't try to run off, would you?"

"No, Sir."

Varador was still lying on his bedroll, one arm behind his head. He studied Ashar suspiciously for a moment. "If you did, I would hunt you down and kill you on the spot. I'd torture you first, of course."

Ashar stared back at him with wide eyes, wondering if Varador could tell he was trembling. He found the lord's threat, delivered so casually as the man still lay reclining in his bed, decidedly unnerving. "I'm not going to run away. Omah has sent me to you for a reason. I would be running away from Omah as much as from you."

Lord Varador felt reassured by this answer. He believed that the boy had faith in his god. Ashar wouldn't disobey this "Omah," surely. Curious, he sat up, reaching for a cup of wine. Even on such a short trip, the lord had brought a few luxury items, including his favorite goblet, a golden cup adorned with jewels.

He saw nothing wrong with beginning the day with a bit of wine. He was accustomed to drinking whenever it suited him; by the end of the day, he would be thoroughly intoxicated.

"You believe your god has sent you to me? For what purpose?"

"I'm not sure," Ashar replied honestly. "At least to help you with your animals."

"Why would your god want to help me?"

Ashar smiled, his light green eyes shining with kindness and compassion. "Omah cares for you, the same as He cares for me. He has given you great gifts, so He must have grand plans for you. You would not be ruler of such a vast empire if it were not His will. Perhaps He has sent me to help you find Him."

Lord Varador was silent for a moment. He had never worshipped any god. He had always relied on his own power—power that was considerable, for after years of refining his craft he had become a great sorcerer. He knew that when it came to his abilities, he had no equal in all of Merevonia. He had used his dark arts to extend his territory far beyond his original domain. Now Ashar seemed to be saying his god _wanted_ him to succeed, wanted to help him.

He dismissed Ashar's remark that the god _cared_ for him. That seemed absurd. Though Varador wasn't even sure he believed in gods, he felt fairly certain that they didn't have _relationships_ with men. Gods were to be worshipped and appeased, perhaps appealed to.

"Do you think Omah would give me even greater power, if I worshipped him?" he asked, putting his drink aside and leaning back on one elbow.

Ashar frowned. "That is not the way you should be thinking about it. You should worship Omah because He is the One True God and trust Him to give you whatever gifts and powers He thinks are best for you. He might make your domain bigger, or He might decide you would benefit more if He took everything away from you. Only He knows what is best. You must trust Him."

Lord Varador laughed. "You're saying if I worshipped him, he might take everything away from me? Why would anyone worship a god like that?"

"Blessings come in different forms," Ashar answered. "If you do what is right, you will be rewarded, though perhaps not in the way you think—and perhaps not during this life."

"What do you mean, 'not during this life'? What other life is there?"

"Our life here is only temporary. Omah is watching us to see what we do with what He has given us. If we do good in this life, we will be rewarded in the life to come—our eternal life with Him, after we pass from this realm."

Lord Varador smiled at the boy's look of sincerity, finding him charmingly naive. "We only have one life, Ashar. We make our own destiny. You have to seize the opportunities life gives you."

"I agree that we must take what life has given us and do the best with it we can. But what happens on this planet, under our sun and moons, is only the beginning of our journey. When we die, we go to Omah to be judged for how we lived." As Ashar spoke, a breeze coaxed the tent flap at the entrance aside and the newly risen sun shone on him, making his blond hair glisten like gold. The light surrounded him like a bright aura. Ashar was a beautiful boy, without comparison. He looked radiant, and for a moment the lord was speechless.

"You are very sure of your beliefs," Varador remarked, trying to dispel a sudden sense of uneasiness that swept over him. For a brief moment, he almost bought into the boy's faith. Could it be true? Was life a test of some kind? What if this god, Omah, were to truly judge him after death for his actions?

How would he be judged?

A shiver passed through him. "How is it you're so sure Omah even exists?" he asked softly.

"I know because He lives inside me, just as He lives inside you. You just haven't turned to Him yet."

Lord Varador pretended he was tired of the conversation, yawning and running a hand through his hair. It was all nonsense anyway. The boy had a wonderful imagination, but Varador had lived long enough to know that, surely, none of what Ashar believed was true. It was doubtful there were even gods, at all. Certainly not a god like Omah. A man made his destiny by his own sweat, blood, and power. There was only one life, and it ended at the moment of death. Then the body decayed and went back into the ground. There was no afterlife, no reward or punishment, no judgment.

No Omah.

"Go see to the horses, then," he said dismissively.

Ashar stood for a moment as though hurt, studying the lord's body language. Varador had shut him out. But only a moment before, he felt certain that the lord had been almost receptive to what he had been saying.

Then it occurred to him: perhaps that was why he had been sent to Lord Varador—to help him find Omah.

"Yes, Sir," he murmured, bowing his head slightly before he backed out of the tent.

The moon Doth was rising, just after the sun, though he seemed pale in comparison to the bright morning star. His larger sister Kara was setting in the east, an immense pink orb that dominated the morning sky.

They had set up camp by a winding stone-filled brook that gurgled pleasantly as water danced over and around its rocks. A flat, slightly hollowed stone at the water's edge had become a bird bath, where beautiful yellow and blue karowyns were gathered. The birds lined up by the stone, each waiting for a turn in the sun-warmed water.

The surrounding meadow was filled with wildflowers, bright pink and lavender petals of yanowmea and wayward bits of white, fluffy cottongrass drifting on the breeze. Iridescent blue and green butterflies fluttered from one flower to the next.

The horses were grazing by the grove of trees where they had been tied, and they raised their heads and nickered a greeting as Ashar approached.

"You're all calmer today," he remarked, smiling. He visited with them all, scratching and examining them to be sure they were well. The animals crowded around him, eager for attention.

"You're up early." Benthem walked toward him, his brow furrowed.

"I wanted to check on the horses."

The man nodded and then stopped, shifting his weight and then looking down before he spoke next. "Ashar, you need to be careful."

The boy was stroking Nash, who seemed to revel in his touch. "What do you mean?"

"I think you know what I mean. You need to obey Lord Varador. What you did yesterday—when you failed to draw your sword—I have to tell you, I've seen Varador strike men down for far less than that."

"I wasn't going to hurt those wolves. Anyway, even if I'd tried, they would have overcome us, if they'd attacked. There were too many of them."

Benthem frowned. He knew this was probably true, but it didn't change the fact that Ashar ought to have obeyed Lord Varador.

"I'm only saying this to help you. Lord Varador _will_ punish or even kill you, if you do something like that again."

"I know."

"Aren't you afraid to die, Ashar?"

"Of course," the boy answered honestly. "But I'm ready to die."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm ready to face Omah. When my time comes—and it will eventually—I will be ready. I won't compromise my beliefs just to prolong my life. It is all up to Omah, anyway, when it's time for me to leave this world."

Benthem sighed. "You are going to live a very short life, I fear."

Ashar nodded. "Maybe."

"I still feel I have to warn you. Lord Varador's punishments—I mean when he chooses to discipline rather than kill—can be quite severe. You might want to rethink your position and be more accommodating."

As he was speaking, Miqah approached them quietly, listening to their conversation. When Ashar didn't answer Benthem, he nodded. "You should listen to Benthem, Ashar."

Ashar turned to look at Miqah, opening his mouth to protest. But when he saw his expression, he closed his mouth again, his attention on the solemn-looking man.

Miqah had an intense look on his face, as though he were seeing something disturbing, far away. Ashar noticed that his brown hair was held back neatly at the nape of his neck with a thong, and he couldn't help but wonder how the man had managed to fasten it with only one hand. His gaze instinctively moved to Miqah's short limb, and once again he marveled over the handsomely engraved silver cap that covered his stump and sleeve.

Miqah moved his arm under his cape, and Ashar looked up, blinking, embarrassed that he had been caught staring at his infirmity. He expected the man to be angry, but instead Miqah only regarded him with frank curiosity.

Few people stared so openly at his arm. The fact that this boy did so was perhaps not surprising—he was young, and he knew nothing about his story. What was surprising was that he seemed to look on him with admiration, rather than disgust. Miqah could detect nothing negative in his appraisal. No; he was certain that he saw a look of genuine awe in his eyes.

For a moment he even considered telling Ashar what had happened to his arm. It would be appropriate, after all, given the conversation. But he had never really spoken of the incident before—nor had he needed to, for everyone knew the story.

Everyone but Ashar.

But Miqah found that he could not bring himself to say anything about it. Suddenly a rush of emotion flooded through him—unexpected, powerful, and raw. He was taken by surprise. It had been years since he had dwelt on what had happened...that day. Not since he was...perhaps Ashar's age.

"We should leave soon," he said gruffly, turning abruptly and striding away.

Ashar stared after him, wondering, and then looked questioningly at Benthem. But the man only turned away, a strange look on his face.

They arrived at the north front mid-morning. The encampment was just outside the Midnight Forest, the massive trees at the edge of the deep woods creaking and rocking in the blustery wind. Ashar could hear the horses long before he could see them, for the animals were extremely agitated, rearing up and neighing as they fought against the ropes that kept them tied to the trees.

As they approached the encampment, Ashar could hardly believe his eyes. He'd never seen animals so frightened and upset before—except once, during a fire in his village. It was as though the horses had gone mad.

He felt his mount, Leramar, tense beneath him and heard Nash snort. "It's all right," he said soothingly, patting Leramar on the neck.

The men rushed toward them, saluting Lord Varador and gazing at Ashar with unconcealed curiosity and astonishment. Who was this boy, dressed up as a consul, riding with Lord Varador?

General Vican came out of his tent to greet them, a similar series of expressions flitting across his face when he saw Ashar. His eyes rested on the medallion Ashar wore around his neck.

His mouth froze into a hard line.

Vican knew the consul's medallion. And he knew all the consuls. There was only one consulate in Lord Varador's territory that was unclaimed—and that was Aragathia. So he knew, even before Lord Varador confirmed it, that this boy was consul of Aragathia.

Though he couldn't quite believe it.

"Lord Varador," he murmured, bowing, his gaze turning again to Ashar. "Consul?"

Ashar nodded. He wasn't sure who the man was, though he guessed, by his rank and bearing, that he was someone of importance. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with black, brooding eyes, and he had a look about him that reminded Ashar of Varador—that same intense, calculating expression. Only this man seemed a little older, his dark hair streaked with silver. And there was something else about him that made Ashar uneasy. The man seemed menacing somehow, even more so than Lord Varador, as if he were surrounded by darkness despite the bright mid-morning sun that shone down on them.

"Ashar is my new consul of Aragathia," Lord Varador announced. "Ashar, this is General Vican."

"General," Ashar nodded, careful to sit up straight on his horse and look the man in the eyes, as Benthem had instructed earlier that day when they were riding to the north front.

A wave of excitement rippled through the encampment. _This_ was the consul of Aragathia? A boy?

All eyes turned to General Vican, who was doing his best to appear unaffected by this news. His attempts at remaining impassive, however, were somewhat less than perfect. His neck was red—a rarely seen indication that the man was upset.

Lord Varador was watching him intently, looking as though the slightest misstep might cost Vican dearly.

The general had not risen to such high standing because he was an idiot. He immediately saw the situation for what it, at least in part, was—a test of his loyalty. For whatever reason, Varador had chosen to give the consulate to someone else. The only acceptable action now, on his part, was to embrace the news calmly and show that he was still obedient to Lord Varador's commands.

"Consul," he nodded in reply, his gaze moving back to Lord Varador. "The situation has reached a crisis, Sir, as you can see. We can't even approach the horses."

Varador relaxed, pleased that Vican had submitted to his decision without even batting an eye. Perfect obedience. He might have expected as much from Vican. Although the man was ambitious, he was—above all—loyal. The lord felt foolish for doubting him. And he would reward him soon enough with the consulate...after he was finished with Ashar.

But now, of course, he needed his new young consul.

"Ashar will take care of it," Lord Varador answered.

Vican almost laughed. The boy would take care of it? What would he possibly do, that the rest of them hadn't tried? The horses were ill. By some strange sickness, they had gone mad. Vican feared they would all have to be put down.

It was only as Ashar dismounted that Vican realized that the boy's horse—and Nash—were calm. Hadn't Miqah said Nash was out of control before? So then, what had happened?

He eyed Ashar again, puzzled by the boy's air of confidence.

The men stepped aside as Ashar walked toward the horses, watching the unfolding scene with curiosity. There must be _something_ extraordinary about the boy, if Lord Varador had made him consul. But could he really do anything about the horses?

Ashar was walking toward General Vican's stallion, Ios, who seemed the most violent of all the animals. The horse reared up and then let loose a loud, shrieking neigh.

The boy opened the pouch at his belt, taking out his lythia. Then, he began to play. It was a beautiful, haunting tune, rising up on the wind like the song of some mysterious bird-creature, or the music of dreams.

Ios quieted, lifting up one hoof and then the other in an almost playful fashion. Ashar stopped playing and approached him, one hand held out in front of him, and the animal—miraculously—allowed him to come close.

The other animals had settled down, too, many of them watching Ashar as though under some sort of spell.

The men looked on in amazement, hardly believing their eyes. How in the world had the boy done it? How could he tame the animals by merely walking up to them? Was he enchanting them with the music?

He was a sorcerer, certainly. And of course, that explained why Lord Varador had made him consul of Aragathia. Despite his young age, the boy had enormous power.

Even Vican was stunned. He had been prepared to enjoy Ashar's discomfiture when the boy found himself unable to do anything about the animals. Instead, he watched with complete astonishment as Ashar began stroking Ios—the same horse Vican had been unable to approach for nearly two weeks.

A cheer rose up from the encampment. The men were elated. Most of them were fond of their mounts and had been dreading what they had assumed was inevitable—that they would be forced to put the animals down. Though they had no idea how Ashar had managed it, they couldn't doubt what they had seen with their own eyes. The horses seemed to be cured of their strange illness. Now they could finally proceed with their campaign, before Lord Drake came against them.

As Ashar visited each of the animals, the men gathered around, smiling and nodding at him. He had earned their respect in a matter of minutes. Boy or no, perhaps Ashar _was_ deserving of the consulate. Anyone who could do what he had done was someone with a bright future in store for him.

Lord Varador watched the scene with a mixture of satisfaction and jealousy. While he was relieved to see the animals under control, he couldn't help but notice how the men looked at Ashar. Once again he privately resolved to get rid of the boy, once he no longer needed him. He posed too much of a threat. If he was this powerful now, what would he be like as a grown man?


End file.
